Alchol
by storiewriter
Summary: Dipper is under the impression that it is Bentley's 21st birthday and therefore he can now legally drink. Bentley isn't 21, and doesn't know what being 21 has anything to do with alcohol. Transcendence-AU.


**A/N:** Mod Z wanted drunk Alcor at some point during Bentley's life. I obliged.

* * *

Bentley was powering through his assigned reading for _Pre-Transcendence Demonic Literature_ when Dipper burst through his bedroom door. After taking a moment to recover from nearly jumping out of his chair, he set down the tablet and swiveled around in his chair.

"What is it?" He asked, putting one arm over the top of the chair and attempting to look stern. "You know I love you, but I really need to get all seventy-nine pages read for tomorrow."

Alcor—Dipper—oh what the hell, his stupid demonic brother grinned and waggled his eyebrows. There was a case of alcohol in one hand, and he swayed a little. "But it's your twenty-first birthday! You can drink now! We should drink! I brought the beer!"

Sometimes Bentley wondered what Dipper was on. "I…yeah, it's my birthday, but it's not my twenty-first. And what does being twenty-one have to do with being able to drink alcohol?"

For a full, very awkward minute, Dipper stared at Bentley without blinking. Knowing that the moment he returned to his homework would be the moment Dipper spoke up, Bentley simply waited.

"…whaaaa?" Dipper said. He took a lurching step into the room, slipped on nothing, and caught himself mid-air. He floated there, pack of beer settled firmly on the ground, staring at Bentley as though Bentley were speaking some sort of language he miraculously didn't understand.

Bentley sighed, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth. "I turn twenty today, you goofball. And the drinking age is nineteen here. What does twenty-one have to do with anything?"

Dipper held up a finger, then dropped it. He rolled over so that he was floating on his back and pointed at Bentley. "You can drink alchol!"

"Al…chol?" Bentley asked. He leaned over and put his forearms on his legs. "Dipper, are you okay?"

The demon was quiet, then drew in a scandalized breath and floated upright. The case of beer swung in an alarming arc over his body and then into his lap. "You didn' tell me you could drink alchol last year!"

"That's because I thought you knew," Bentley said. "And we had a perfectly decent time without drinking before Torako dragged me out to publicly embarrass me. Where is she, anyways? I thought we were going out for dinner tonight."

Dipper hummed and furrowed his eyebrows, swaying from side to side about two feet off the ground. "Ummm, she's out…getting groceries?"

He thought for a moment, then tipped his head to the side. They needed them, and who was he to tell Torako she couldn't go food-shopping without him?

"And you weren't gonna invite me?" Bentley blinked, and Dipper's face was suddenly centimeters from his. On reflex, he scooted back and slammed into the lip of his desk. Dipper tipped his head, and then exploded into laughter punctuated by hysterical 'your faaaaace' commentary.

The beer nearly smacked Bentley across the head as Dipper flailed. One wing actually clipped his shoulder and well that would bruise. "Dipper, calm down! You can eat with us later if you think you can keep up a human persona in public, but otherwise I'll come back and we can, I don't know, play a game. Until then, I need to get my homework read! There's a quiz tomorrow."

Dipper flopped down onto Bentley's bed and hefted the case of beer. "Saaaay, what about a deal?"

Bentley narrowed his eyes and pulled himself forward with his feet so that he could turn around and get back to work. "Not going for it."

"You sit down and drink the alchol with me," Dipper said, rolling to the edge of Bentley's bed and rumpling the sheets even further. "An' I'll make sure you know eeeeverything you need to."

"Not doing it," Bentley trilled, turning around and picking his tablet back up. He really wasn't looking forward to finishing _Dante's Inferno_ , and wondered if his prof could have picked a more boring book to read.

He had read two more sentences when Dipper squirmed over Bentley's shoulder and waved the case of beer over the tablet. "Come oooooooon, celebrate with me! It'll be more fun for you, and I enjoyed _Dante's Inferno_ when I was younger, so I can tell you allll about it!"

Bentley, despite himself, began watching the pack of beer sway back and forth and thinking about how he'd read the last page about three times before any of it had set in. He narrowed his eyes.

"Fine," he said over the little voice inside that told him he'd only regret this deal. "But only a little, and you tell me everything I need to know. No cramming it into my head!"

Blue fire flickered into existence on his shoulder, and Dipper trilled, " _Deal._ "

* * *

The next morning he was too hungover to go to class, and Bentley remembered exactly why he didn't like drinking.


End file.
